BET (Bosmer Entertainment Television)
by Agastopic
Summary: After causing trouble in Windhelm, the Dragonborn decides to re-curry favor with the new Jarl by investigating one of Skyrim's less prominent immigrant groups, the Bosmer. Featuring Faendal, Malborn, and Wylandriah, a.k.a. Faen-dawg, Mal-B, and...eh, she can keep her name. Also possibly Uncle Ungrien, Nivenor the ghetto snob, or anyone else fresh or not so fresh out da Valenhood.


Chapter 1: The Birth of Enlightenment

"You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. What say you in your defense?"

The young Nord woman at whom the comment was aimed just shrugged. She did what she had to do, steal a ring from a bitch. Those weren't her orders, but oh, that's right, she wasn't supposed to put the Guild in danger. Or the Brotherhood. There was still that Shatter-shield ho to take care of.

"Well?" asked the guard while holding a sword to her throat.

"Just fishin.' Doin' my own fishin.'"

Before she knew it, she was knocked out and locked up. For some reason, she could go around some holds and proclaim to be Thane to avoid imprisonment, but for reasons unnkown, she couldn't go around acknowledging her identity as the Dragonborn to avoid anything. If she had the intellect to strategize, she would have become Thane of Eastmarch before doing all this, but alas, she didn't.

Oh, well, life is like the woman she got caught pickpocketing. It's also like the ocean, and she could either sink into a trench trying to go against the flow or ride high in the waves ingesting Balmora Blue. Resistance is futile, and after all that Alduin and civil war mess, she was gonna do whatever she wanted to do—go on every available spree of hedonism and crime. Then, if she was fated to survive her questionable habits, choosing a member of the Nordic pantheon to be a priestess of seemed relaxing enough. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.

Until a cold pierced every last bit of her skin and violently woke her up. Now she didn't remember anything. Now it was just cold, cold, cold. That single word replaced thoughts of significant life plans. She opened her eyes and looked around.

_The Palace of Kings? Why not a jail cell? What kind of cruel, unusual punishment is going on?_

The Nord thief's thoughts raced as her light gray eyes shifted around the palace. She was face up and laying down with most of her body frozen to the floor. Unfortunately, the Dragonborn had the typical Nord lack of magical prowess and couldn't do anything about the spell controlling her body. But she reconsidered her current state. Being frozen might be a good thing. No one wants to stick anything in freezing cold lady parts. At least that wasn't going to happen, she was sure.

A door swung open, letting out Jarl Brunwulf Free-winter and Jorleif. The Jarl was a nice guy, or so she heard.

"It's a shame to see a hero committing petty thievery," he remarked.

"Perhaps. It doesn't mean much, though. I think we know what will be remembered across the divides of time and what won't be." _Ooh, sassy. _This Nord always took the time to compliment herself when she felt sassy.

"Even so. You must be an impulsive theif that cares about the moment, the now, and I'll have you know two things. First, Hjerim is locked to the teeth. You didn't even buy the house, but we found evidence of you inside. Second, if you do not comply with your punishment, you will not be allowed within Windhelm walls following your release."

"Tell me why that matters."

"You honestly don't remember any reason why you'd be needing Hjerim or Windhelm?"

"Too much skooma and the blue stuff."

"Jorleif, list out the items and...beings found inside Hjerim."

Jorlief did as he instructed, proclaiming there to be 75,000 septims of gold stored in all the wardrobes accompanied by over a hundred soul gems, three Marks of Dibella, and a scared to death Housecarl that was told to wait there and had the loyalty and stupidity to remain inside. Probably Lydia.

"Damn, I forgot all about those Marks of Dibella." At this comment, the Jarl and Jorleif briefly glanced at each other with looks of frustration and confusion about the priorities of the youth of today. The Dragonborn saw this but ignored it. "Why can't I just go to jail?" she continued.

"Because," began Jarl Brunwulf, "someone of your reputation deserves a better, more fulfilling punishment. Perhaps you can assist me with renovations in the Gray Quarter."

_Wow, fulfilling punishment. What a softie._ The Dragonborn then shook her head quickly. "Oooh no, if I'm not allowed to shout them back to Morrowind, then I'll be skinned alive by all of them. I don't hate them, but I think they don't like me, and for good reason."

"And why would that be?"

"There's a divine artifact. Azura's star. You know enough about the Dunmer to see why that would be iportant to them. Anyways, I had a helluva good time with an Altmer mage who reversed some of the star's properties with my help. Originally, just one Dunmer priestess knew, but on an especially drunk night at the Cornerclub, I kinda...told the rest of them."

The Jarl sighed. After some minutes of comtemplation, he consulted his Housecarl. Brunwulf and his well-intentioned pansiness wanted to promote peace with the immigrants of Skyrim. However, he wasn't sure who to start off with other than the Dunmer. Most of what he'd been thinking about recently were Gray Quarter matters. The Dark Elves, however, were the largest immigrant group in Skyrim. It might be better to start out small.

Meanwhile, the Dragonborn was getting impatient. "Have anythin' yet?" she asked, looking at her iced hand.

Jorleif noticed her gaze and warned the Jarl to finalize plans with her before she started wonder if her tongue would stick to the ice. The Jarl agreed. "Well, if you don't want to work with Dunmer, then who?"

The Dragonborn took a few seconds to make some sort of half-assed decision. A look of epiphany crossed her countenance. Then, silence. The only epiphany she had was to attempt licking her hand to stall everything, and at that she partially succeeded.

Housecarl Jorleif made a suggestion. "My Jarl, what about the Bosmer? They're good, humble folk, and not as sickeningly haughty as the Altmer. Our dragon-killing friend would fare better with them, I believe."

His suggestion was met with approval. After all, it was three in the morning. Jarl Brunwulf had no time for this matter anymore. He ordered Jorleif to record the happenings and Wuunferth to stop casting his frost spell. Upon finishing the paperwork, Jorleif wrote an extra sheet of paper detailing the nature of the punishment and had it delivered to Lydia, who was staying in Candlehearth Hall.

At dawn, the Dragonborn was reunited with her Housecarl who for some reason didn't think anything was wrong. They received many pairs of raised eyebrows and squinted eyes. Although, that didn't matter. Business was to go on as usual between Dumb and Dumber. Knowing that, the heroine asked her steward to read the specifications of her punishment. Lydia read aloud:

_The Dragonborn, Marieke of Falkreath, must investigate into the culture of Bosmer in Skyrim so that her Nord bretheren can easier relate to those who they share the land with. At least three Bosmer men and/ or women must be interviewed. Freedom to decide what the content of the questions will be is left to the Dragonborn and who she chooses to assist her. Housecarl Lydia, we in the Palace of Kings higly recommend that she receive outside help. Her judgement is most likely clouded with the fumes of numerous illicit substances, many of which were confisacted from her person. We also think she didn't have much of a brain to begin with. Don't expect the confiscated things back, as my Jarl and I wished to...expand our horizons. You should also come back to the Palace before you leave Windhelm since I have a large sword in need of a sheathe. I'm ridiculously lonely and might feel worse about it after getting strung out. Anyway, get the interviews done as quickly as possible._


End file.
